


Under the Dark Oak Tree

by antsu_in_my_pantsu



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: (this is 1400 lol), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Third Person Limited, Sexual Themes, background bencutio, basically hate fucking minus the fucking, mercutio is a bastard bitch ass, nonsexual choking, romeo and juliet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antsu_in_my_pantsu/pseuds/antsu_in_my_pantsu
Summary: “I will take great joy in slaughtering you,” Tybalt hoarsely said, “I detest you, Mercutio. I utterly despise you,”“Then make me behave, Tybalt Capulet,”-A tale in which a Tybalt and Mercutio’s skirmish is a futile and fleeting one, but a bit more than fighting occurs.
Relationships: Mercutio & Tybalt, Mercutio/Tybalt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Under the Dark Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a good amount of this at play practice... yikes.  
I would also like to say this fic was INCREDIBLY inspired by Verbatim by Mother Mother and Animal by Sir Chloe. They both have such TyCutio energy, especially the latter. Mother Mother is generally Mercutiocore.   
As I said in the tags, this fic has mild violence! I don’t think It’s too distasteful (my beta agrees), but it’s something to be wary of if that content could be potentially upsetting.  
I’m currently reading Julius Caesar in class so I’m feeling kind of Shakespearean. I might write BenCutio next.   
Finally - I didn’t fully commit to the Shakespearean dialect in this. My writing style for Shakespeare is a sort of half-archaic half-modern amalgamation. Make whatever you will of that.  
Please enjoy!!! ♡

The aroma of biting wine and ebullient yells of drunkards permeated the night sky as Tybalt, presently morose, trudged to somewhere that proved to be peaceful. He knew naught of where he was going, he simply knew he did not want to be in the presence of the inane crowd for a moment longer. 

He was rather annoyed and his skull had settled into a dull throbbing, even after he retired from the party of his cousin, a girl which he was not particularly fond of to begin with. The sight of the concupiscent crowd filled him with a conflagration of ire, and learning of the Montague boy’s invasion only stoked the flames of his soul. 

He was beginning to find solace in the quietude of the streets, the only sound being the gentle thumping of his foot on the cobblestone and the drunk howling distantly emitting from the Capulet residence. The air smelled of fall, crisp and cold. The hanging lanterns on every corner gently swayed, as though enjoying a private dance. Tybalt was to himself in his travels, a state of being he was happiest with. A solitary being, he reckoned he was. 

Tybalt quickened his speed as lopsided paces rang throughout the street, the source indeterminable. He didn’t think he was in any sort of danger; he simply despised the prospect of communicating with another individual.

In his haste, he walked into the town square, eerie in its desolation. The oak tree in the centre loomed overhead, an oak of brindled brown bark and dark green foliage. Seconds after Tybalt’s entrance, a clearly intoxicated man stumbled out of a street on the other end of the square. He sweeping back his sable hair in a lackadaisical fashion as he shambled. A laugh of great amplitude sounded from his lips, a noise that could be heard across the large courtyard in the centre of the square. It grated on Tybalt’s ears. 

Immediately, he began considering all the ways he could find a way to escape. Humoring a drunkard was the last thing he desired to do at this hour, especially when a heavy somnombulance was settling over his bones. 

Tyablt perked up when he heard the man’s mutterings. He spoke of Romeo Montague, perhaps in a barmy retelling of a story or recollection of a memory. Tybalt’s mouth grew dry. In his indignation, he would be willing to fight this man if he proved to be a kinsman of Romeo’s. 

“Aye, sirrah!” The man shouted from across the courtyard, his voice vexatious in its inconsiderate nature.

He ambled towards Tybalt in a non-confrontational way, nearly tripping numerous times over. Despite this, Tybalt’s hand moved to his sword, sleeping in its scabbard, as a gelid anxiety meandered over the nape of his neck.

His tongue ran over his lips. “What do you desire, clotpole?”

As the man stumbled closer, Tybalt found his face to be uncannily familiar, or perhaps it was only the smarmy grin he wore that gave him an ill feeling. Tybalt gripped the hilt of the sword, preparing to draw. 

“Aye, my lord, I want nothing but to greet you,” His eyes narrowed, “I didn’t see you at the Capulet’s gathering, as I was praying I so would,”

Keeping a face of calm proved to be difficult.

“I know naught of you. Are you fleering me?”

The man tittered, a light sound erupting from his lips, pressed around his thumb. “Never, certes,”

Tybalt shivered as the man gnawed his thumb, eyes transfixed on his own. “Are you attempting to square?”

“Never, sirrah,”

“Abydocomist,” Tybalt muttered to himself. “You’re a Montague, are you not?”

“Of sorts, yes. I am able to haply call myself such,” he drawled, leaning against the oak tree.

Tybalt felt something break within him, his blood simmering with indignance. He knew, in that moment, he hated this fellow, regardless of whatever next followed in their encounter. The name of this hated individual suddenly struck him.

“Meructio,” Tybalt uttered, voice trembling despite all efforts to keep it steady.

“That is mine own name,” He agreed, pride soaking every word. “Like it?”

Mercutio sauntered forth, only a few feet of distance standing between him and tybalt. 

“I misprise you, courtesan. I’ll gore you if you dare to take another step,”

The other man only laughed, discarding the remark, and twined his arm around Tybalt’s neck, their chests pressed together. It was not an aggressive action, but one of grace, of ravishment. It was unwelcome.

Degenerate ardor lacing his tone, he inquired, “Is that so?” 

Tybalt shoved Mercutio with all the force he could muster. The other man merely laughed as he lurched backwards, cavorting and capering through the grass with merriment. 

“I intend to purge the world of libertines such as yourself. Reviled wench. Sodomite,” he snarled.

“Oh, hearing such hurts me so, because I love you, Tybalt Capulet,” 

Seconds later Tybalt’s sword was drawn, at the ready, knuckles white in his tight grip. 

“You’re awfully bold without your other half, that Montague whore,” He bristled.

Mercutio rolled his eyes, pressing his finger to the end of the other boy’s blade. “Maybe so. Benvolio can be very much a bore. That gent grows tired of wine and amorous rite easily,” 

Tybalt’s face sweltered at that, and he made a move to strike Mercutio, yet even drunk, the montague boy was astute and able. He stepped aside with ease. 

“I say again, do you wish to square?” Tybalt barked, now seething.

Mercutio paused for a moment, looking as though he was deep in thought, before he brought his foot down on Tybalt’s short blade, pressing it into the earth. Tybalt pitched forward, his body suddenly rather cumbersome as he attempted to gain steady footing. Mercutio smirked as be brought his knee into the other’s face, quick and unsympathetic. 

“Turn hence, mine own king, I don’t want your blood on mine own boots,” He gibed as he skittishly kicked Tybalt’s rapier across the square. 

“Rampallian,” he grumbled resentfully. 

Mercutio drew a dagger of seemingly no origin. Tybalt scrambled to kick Mercutio at his knees, grabbing the dagger as it fell to the earth. Mercutio returned the action with glee, kicking Tybalt’s ankles from the ground. He scrabbled on top of the other.

For a fleeting moment Tybalt panics, realizing that Mercutio could easily retake the blade and kill him. His grip tightens as Mercutio straddles him, intaking breaths raggedly. He clasped Tybalt’s wrist, bringing him to hold the dagger at his stomach. Mercutio’s other hand was occupied clutching Tybalt’s. Mercutio’s canine eyes leered at Tybalt, insatiably perfervid as he leaned over him. 

“Kill me,” He breathed, notching Tybalt’s hand, “You don’t have it within you,”

Tybalt’s hand wavered at this, not out of fear, but rather pointed rage. He clenched his jaw, wishing Mercutio’s eyeballs sat between his ground teeth. 

In a singular, swift motion, Tybalt toppled Mercutio over, moving his knees on either side of Mercutio’s hips. Tybalt brough the short blade to the side of Mercutio’s neck, lightly pressing the edge into his tender flesh. The doggish boy peered up at Tybalt, a snigger painting his features as he bit his lip. 

“Your death,” Tybalt declared, voice low, “will be of my own volition. Do not tell me what to do,”

Mercutio’s gaze was desirous as Tybalt spoke the words, as if the prophecy of his own death brought him a sort of sick pleasure. The montague boy brought his lips to the blade without speaking, and slid his tongue down the length of it, adagio. The sight was a confounding one.

Mercutio then bit the blade, his eyes not once daring to move from Tybalt’s gaze. He firmly held the dagger between his teeth, and the other merely watched. 

Abruptly, Mercutio brought his knee to Tybalt’s stomach with no hesitance, throwing the blade across the courtyard as he did so. It landed a few feet away from the looming tree.

Mercutio was the first to rise as the other lagged behind. Tybalt, on hand and foot, clambered to obtain the dagger once more, but Mercutio barged on his hand, the heel of his boots cracking ligaments. The splitting pain Tybalt should’ve felt was numbed by his ardent choler as his mouth clamped shut; he was too prideful to yelp. 

He leaped to his feet, and with his good hand, chaotically hit Mercutio over the head. His arm was slow-moving, his shot was scattered, and his hand didn’t even form a proper fist, but the hit landed, and Mercutio doddered forward clumsily as a result. Tybalt felt sadistic satisfaction flicker in his core as Mercutio slammed into the tree, maladroit, and slid into the grass, his dignity drifting away from his crumpled body. 

Tybalt cackled callously as he gripped the hilt of the dagger. The feeling of the splintered wood wrought rapture over him, and the blade was gorgeously serrated. Engravings of flowers adorned the flat side, and on the other, Mercutio’s name. He idly noted how he would keep this blade as a prize once the other expired.

It was Tyablt’s turn to maunder, eyeing Mercutio’s body as he did so. He was breathing, but his chest inflated and rumpled raggedly. 

Tybalt stabbed the blade into the bark above Mercutio, bits of wood raining onto his hair. He slowly dropped to his knees, dragging the blade down the tree as he came to eye level with the other man, feline and canine meeting. Mercutio glared at him wickedly, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as Tybalt’s weight settled over his thighs. Tybalt kept one hand on the dagger, the other next to Mercutio’s head on the tree.

“I will take great joy in slaughtering you,” Tybalt hoarsely said, “I detest you, Mercutio. I utterly despise you,”

“Then make me behave, Tybalt Capulet,”

He fisted his hand in Tybalt’s unkempt hair, and carelessly slammed their mouths together. Upon contact, their teeth collided, a loud and unpoetic clack sounding between them.

Tybalt’s grip on the blade tightened, and his broken bones threatened to jump out from under his skin, pulled so taut in his apprehension. Unthinkingly, he brought his other hand to Mercutio’s neck, flexing his fingers. 

A gutteral noise sounded from Mercutio’s throat, a primal noise that reeked of sex, a noise that made Tybalt feel naseuous. The montague boy tasted of wine, but the bittersweet flavor turned gory, sultry blood pouring into their mouths as Tybalt drove his teeth into the other’s bottom lip.

Mercutio yanked away, nails scraping against the feline boy’s scalp. The vermillion liquid, shimmering under the moon, was smeared across his face, and it continued to dribble down his chin, onto his clothes. The skin of his neck pulsated hotly under Tybalt’s slender digits.

He was grinning ravenously, his teeth grotesque from cerise pigmentation. 

“‘Twas most wondrous, mine own lord,” He lowly said, licking the blood from his lower lip.

Tybalt twitched, “If you dare say another word, I will kill you,”

Mercutio raised an eyebrow, as if to question Tybalt’s will. With a smicker, he slammed his mouth into the other’s, this time more relentless than the last. Both his hands were latched onto other man’s hair, holding Tybalt’s face against his own.   
Tybalt clutched Mercutio’s throat with fervor, taking pleasure in feeling veins compromise under his tyrannical fingertips. Mercutio gagged, a choked sound low in his throat, yet refused to yield. Tybalt kissed the other man back, harder and messier than before, their teeth clacking and their noses banging together. Blood, saliva, and sweat coated their lips and spattered onto their clothes. Mercutio moved to cup Tybalt’s face, but there was no tenderness, only animosity as he dug his nails into the skin of his cheeks. 

In an unexpected turn of events, Mercutio softened. With an odd sort of fondness in the midst of their violent kiss, took the other’s hand off of the dagger. For a brief moment, Mercutio’s lips chastely danced over Tybalt’s, a hint of sweetness spreading over his tongue as their hands intertwined, digits smoothly sliding against each other. Both had calloused palms, and there was an oddly comforting solidarity between the two. Perhaps this was the one honeyed kiss a Capulet and a Montague would share in the square of Venice, under the dark oak tree.

Mercutio then bit on the other’s tongue in a rapid motion, absconding his hand from the other’s. He yanked Tybalt’s already fragmented fingers backward with all the force he could muster. A sequence of sickening cracks drifted through the courtyard as tears pricked Tybalt’s eyes.

In vengeance, he pierced the thin, pale skin of the other’s throat, skin gathering under his nails as he tore it off in stringy slivers. The montague boy punched him in the face in return, his fist landing on Tybalt’s tender temple, causing him to bite down hard on his own tongue. He fell on his side.

“Wretch!” Tybalt hollered, kicking Mercutio in the jaw with little accuracy but an abundance of passion. 

Rubbing his jaw, Mercutio rasped, “This has been the most wondrous of excitements, mine own love, Tybalt,” 

He yanked his dagger out of the tree and pressed the flat side to Tyablt’s lips. The moon’s luminescence frolicked in his fanatical eyes. “I behold forward for at which hour you will kill me. I bethink I will enjoy it, the feeling of something of yours inside of me.”

Tybalt sputtered at the last part, longing for the energy to lunge for Mercutio’s throat once more. The canine-like boy, however, was wistfully looking at the long-discarded rapier which lay across the courtyard. His visage was a knowing one.

Mercutio stood, the earliest streams of dawn’s sunlight waltzing over his shoulders and hair. once-immaculate shirt of woven alabaster was now befouled with blood, foliage, and dirt. His face was grimy, his hair unkempt, and he was trembling. It was slight, yet noticeable. His childlike playfulness was absent, even if only for a moment, his eyes cold. Perhaps he actually died last night. His mask was cracking, slowly rotting off his face, and all that would be left soon was a hollow skeleton. Tybalt knew what rested under the skin that Mercutio wore. He could flirt and affront and trifle with ease, yet deep inside, he was vacuous, for only the dust of his soul and a fraction of his former passion for life resided. There was nothing.

Mercutio was gorgeous, the walking corpse of a man, and Tybalt knew he would be the one to steal his life. 

He smiled at the thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> That’s the fanfiction!! I really enjoy the result and I hope you, lovely reader, liked it.   
Per usual, list of references and some Shakespearean words:   
✧ “Mine own lord/king” - is a reference to the original text. In Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio calls Tybalt ‘king of the cats’ multiple times over, and I see Mercutio as someone who would fuck with Tybalt by calling him king all the time.   
✧ general descriptions of Tybalt as feline and Mercutio as a canine - I like to associate Tybalt with cats because, in Shakespeare, he is called ‘king of the cats.’ Of course, this is a reference to another fictional character by the name of Tybalt who IS king of the cats, not Tybalt Capulet, but I think it’s fun to describe him that way anyway. I describe Mercutio as canine/doggish because I feel he embodies those traits and I think it further paints him as a foil to Tybalt.   
✧ Abydocomist - refers to someone from the Greek town of Abydos, it is a colloquialism for a liar/teller of untruths  
✧ thumb biting - essentially means “fuck you” in archaic terms. It’s also in the first page of the original Romeo and Juliet  
✧ Courtesan - a person, usually a female prostitute, who has sex with the gentry   
✧Libertines - free thinkers who tend to act without morals, especially in regards to sex   
✧ Amorous rite - sex   
✧ To square/square - to fight   
✧ Rampallian - good-for-nothing scoundrel  
✧ “Engravings of flowers adorned the flat side, and on the other, Mercutio’s name.” - I like to think the dagger was a gift from Benvolio :v not exactly an allusion but w/e  
✧ “Then make me behave...” - these are lyrics from Animal by Sir Chloe! I love this song so much, and I think it fits their dynamic perfectly (as I said earlier). 
> 
> That’s it for this fanfiction! I don’t think I’ll ever write about Tybalt and Mercutio again, but I will certainly explore the relationship between Mercutio and Benvolio. I also might work on some stuff for DRV3 or Haikyuu. If I continue with my classical literature trend, then I might write something for Frankenstein by Mary Shelley! Victor and Henry had intense homoerotic energy, and no-one can convince me otherwise.
> 
> On an unrelated note, my entire cast read this fanfiction. It's now a joke that if someone makes a sexual remark, we say "are you trying to reenact tycutio" or something of the like. Most of the cast, however, did not actually like this story so RIP to me I guess. 
> 
> If you go to my school and you show this to the administration you're triple gay.
> 
> My other social medias:   
Instagram - @wormweeb  
Tumblr - @antsu-in-my-pantsu (shitposts), @wormweeb (fandom stuff)
> 
> ♡ Love you all! ♡ Kudos and comments are appreciated! ♡


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